


Scratch

by Llama



Series: Transactions [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, hints of amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:14:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama/pseuds/Llama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles isn't waiting for Peter to visit him again. Not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratch

Stiles was always considered a clumsy kid. It's true he's had more than his share of bumps and scrapes over the years, but it's just normal stuff, like any kid has. Some of them he took for Scott, because sometimes it's necessary to be a buffer if your best friend is going to push himself too far.

Yeah, he doesn't need to do that any more. Tonight Stiles had to lean on Scott when the excitement was over, and it's fucked up that walking away from it, even with help, is what makes a draw feel like a win.

He pulls on his oldest, softest t-shirt and stretches out on his bed. There's a cool breeze from the half-open window, prickling at his skin, and his fingers move restlessly over the ends of the bristly stitches curving between his ribs and his hip. _Where they bite_ , his brain supplies, and it feels wrong thinking about Peter biting Scott there, like it's something that would never happen in the real world. 

Derek bit Boyd in the same place, according to Scott. What about Isaac? _Erica_? It seems so... intimate. 

He doesn't want to think about Lydia, the only one who still has the scars, even if she's careful not to let anyone see them. 

Peter had offered to bite Stiles on the _arm_. He falls asleep wondering what that means.

 

When Stiles wakes up, there's no sign that anyone has been in his room. He figures even if Peter hasn't moved on to some new diversion, it doesn't mean he's going to come over and revel in Stiles's bruised and marked up body every time he gets injured. 

Anyway, his arrangement with Peter is for 'favors'. He might want something else when he comes.

Stiles shivers. It's not that he _wants_ Peter to come and ask for anything. But he will come, and soon, because Stiles owes him at least two favours after last week's insomnia-fuelled research binge. 

Yeah, yeah, it was a bad idea. He's crazy, promising the big bad wolf future unspecified favors in return for something to occupy his brain when it's buzzing with energy and ready to explode, but he did it, it's done. He just wants to get the payment part over with as soon as possible, thanks, and he'd rather not look too closely at why. 

But Peter doesn't come. 

He doesn't come after the impromptu meeting at Derek's place, which Stiles kind of drowses through because Scott sneaked him some good painkillers from his mom's medicine cabinet. He doesn't come after he bumps into Stiles at the bookstore, even though his eyes drop to where Stiles was stitched up, as if he can see through all the layers of clothing.

It's Derek who comes instead, huffing and puffing on Stiles's doorstep like he resents being seen somewhere so normal, so ordinary. Stiles doesn't feel inclined to let him in, but since when has that made any difference?

“You can't hold out on me, Stiles,” Derek says. “If you have anything that will help us with these creatures, you have to tell me.”

Stiles throws his hands up, because this, again? “I already told you! I had a quick flash of a lake or something, and that was it. A split second and it shut down, like, blam, it was gone.”

“Everyone else has seen something when one of these creatures scratched them,” Derek insists, backing Stiles up against the wall as usual, because he never _listens_ , just goes bull-headed on his set course. “It doesn't matter where the claws go in, they've been able to show us places, memories. It seems to be something important to them, it might even tell us what their endgame is here.”

“Yeah, well.” Stiles ducks out from under Derek's arms. “Maybe they don't want to share with humans, or it just works differently to your wolfy powers. Who knows?”

And that's, huh, an interesting thought. He has a lot of info to go through on werewolf memory transference, mostly thanks to Peter, and he could start there and see where it leads--

Stiles assumes Derek leaves, somewhere between him heading upstairs to dig out the laptop and switch his computer on and his dad coming home, but he doesn't really care.

 

“Find anything?”

The voice makes Stiles's spine tingle, but it makes him want to laugh too. Now that he's busy, that's when Peter calls round.

“Yeah. Well, maybe.” Stiles rubs his hands over his head. His eyes are gritty, and he doesn't even want to know how long he's been staring at one screen or another today. He shuts the laptop and sighs. “No, nothing really useful.”

Stiles doesn't hear a single footstep, but he knows when Peter is behind him. It's the faint warmth close to his skin, like having Scott lean over to copy his notes, except Scott doesn't give him that feeling of coiled tension in his guts, or a half-formed urge to run away, very fast.

Stiles's body is dangerously over-optimistic if it thinks it could outrun any werewolf, so he swings round in his chair instead. 

“I have an idea,” Peter says, and the grin that curls his lip is the one that says Stiles is going to be repaying one of the favors he owes, whether he likes it or not. Stiles reaches for the hem of his t-shirt automatically.

Peter's grin grows wider, even more when Stiles stops, realising his relief at the moment being here, finally, might be mistaken for eagerness.

“Keep going,” he says, and ominously, “it will avoid things getting messy.”

Stiles wonders about what kind of messy he means, when he's lying on his bed in just his shorts. Peter spends longer than Stiles is strictly comfortable with looking at the healing scratch. The stitches are gone, but it's still painful to touch. Unusually, Peter seems more interested in sniffing it.

Stiles's dick is predictably interested in having someone's face near it. He's a teenager, and he's used to his body plotting against him, but it's still mortifying.

“I'm going to need to scratch you,” Peter says, thoughtfully running a nail over the side opposite the scar. Stiles's dick twitches again. “Not as deep as that one. You're young and heal quickly, it may not even scar.”

Stiles could say no. Maybe. Peter needs to stay on Derek's good side, needs Scott off his case as well, so he could back off. But if it will help, if it will give them the clue they need?

“Is that--” he starts, but he has no real idea what he wants to say.

“I can find you something to trade,” Peter says, rolling his eyes. “You want the old German books translating? I should be able to do one this week.”

Stiles blinks. “No, I was going to ask if this made us even,” he says. “I still owe you for the last two books, right?”

The smile that Peter gives him is too slow, too fake. Stiles doesn't know what to do with it. “I'm feeling generous tonight,” he says, but Stiles knows there's something he's not saying. 

Stiles is going to ask him what it is, he really is, but Peter's fingers curl into the waistband of his shorts, and the question dies in his throat.

“It'll be painful,” Peter says, pulling them down until Stiles's dick springs out, not the least bit daunted by unasked questions or the predatory glint in Peter's eyes. “Best if you try not to think about it.”

Stiles wants to say something, wants to ask what the hell his dick has to do with this, but Peter's fingers wrap around him like they do this all the time, like it's no big deal for him to be holding Stiles's dick, stroking up and down, bringing his lips down to rub against--

“Oh my _god_ ,” Stiles gasps, when Peter's lips part over the head of his dick, sliding down smooth and warm and wet, and his hips jerk up like Peter has them on a string. It's nothing like he expected, but until now he's always assumed it would be an inexperienced girl, fumbling her way through this the same way he was, not a man – a werewolf – who clearly knew what he was doing.

Stiles holds on, lasts as long as he can, because he hadn't asked for this but now that it's happening Peter can freaking well work for it, and because he knows what's going to happen when it's over, and that's--

Peter growls deep in his throat, and Stiles loses his grip, his orgasm and possibly his entire brain sucked out of him by an inhumanly strong mouth. There's just enough hint of teeth to distract him from the searing pain of three claws sinking cleanly into his flesh. 

_Tilting his face up at a mirror, seeing it burned and scarred._

_Chasing through the woods, cutting up earth and leaves, scenting a fresh human trail through the trees._

_Biting down, fierce and triumphant, prey still under his claws._ Scott.

 

“I think it's magic,” Peter says, leaning in the doorway of the too-bright bathroom while Stiles wipes over the scratches. The claws sunk in, but they didn't tear the flesh apart like the unknown creatures did, so he doesn't think it'll need much beyond that. “You picked up my memories just fine, so I don't see any reason you wouldn't pick up theirs. I think they chose you.”

“Great,” Stiles says, dabbing away and wincing, because of course they did. “Any idea what their nefarious plan was?”

Peter is silent long enough for Stiles to look up and find his eyes in the mirror. “We'll need to do some research to know for sure, “ he says, but he's hedging and Stiles knows it, doesn't break the eye contact until Peter sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“They might be... stealing memories from you instead of sharing them,” he says finally. “And I think it's still happening.” 

Stiles remembers Peter's hesitation then, his faint surprise when Stiles reminded him about the favors he still owed. Remembers how odd it seemed that Peter hadn't visited him when he expected. Remembers the impatient email from Mr Harris telling him that no, he couldn't have an extension because his assignment was in already, and why was Stiles wasting his time?

He wants to know what else he's missing, how they can find out exactly what this is, how they can stop it. He wants to know how the hell they are going to explain how they know this to anyone, everyone.

He wants to know a lot of things, but when he looks up, the doorway is empty.


End file.
